


I'm Still Here

by Mikasa361



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Come on Beka get it together, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, FLUFF EVENTUALLY, I have no idea what I'm doing, M/M, Multi, Pining, pretty much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-14 08:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10532382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikasa361/pseuds/Mikasa361
Summary: Yuri gets a text from Otabek, saying that he is single, yet again. This is the third relationship in sixth months- Beka needs a break.It seems that every time Beka's single again, Yuri just gets overlooked. And as time passes, he has no idea why... But for some reason it leaves a progressively worse taste in his mouth.Rated teen and up for Yurio's foul mouth.Like YoI? Wanna give me ideas about this fic, or for others?Check out my Discord server!Don't worry, I don't bite. <3Oh hey, I have a server for writing and stuff.Check it out right here!Come for writing tips- or bring some of your own! Either way, come visit that little snake with the top hat!





	1. Oh, COME ON.

**Author's Note:**

> _A/N: I took the title from the song “I’m Still Here” from the movie Treasure Planet. I recommend it, it’s a good song. :) Also for some reason I always use MLA format when I write anything on Word or Docs anymore??? College??? Fuck. Disclaimer, most Russian or Kazakh will be from Google Translate because I only speak English, I apologize in advance. I wanna take Russian, but I won’t be anywhere near fluent for a long time. Anyway, I’m gonna also try and stay as in-character as possible, so Yuri is not gonna have a nice mouth. Sorry not sorry. I’ll have a warning for it. Anyway, Beka has a few siblings in my headcanon, like two or three. So big brother Otabek is definitely a thing. Also Beka has a bunch of mischievous friends??? Can I get a mom friend Otabek or a mischievous Otabek??? I’m gonna ask for your opinion, though I’m kinda leaning on Beka being a mom friend because THAT GIVES ME LIFE. Idk. Anyways, enjoy. No characters are mine, except any non-canon family members. :D_

~Y~  


He’s fucked up again. I’m not sure whether to laugh at him or feel bad. I just look at the screen for another five minutes. Beka’s probably noticed he has been on read for a solid fifteen. But what the fuck do I say? Do I say “that sucks, man” or “BAHAHAHAHAHA”? What are friends supposed to say? I’m tempted to ask Pig or the Old Man, since they’ve been more social than I have. Or maybe I should ask the Баба, since _she’s just the talk of the town_. Barf. Seeing her and that Crispino girl makes me _sick_. 

I give in and shoot a text out.

That sucks… I guess. Fuck. That was wrong, wasn’t it? Oh well. It’s me, God dammit. He can suck it up and deal with it. He responds to me pretty quickly.

**Thanks, I guess. I mean, she didn’t let me breathe, so I guess it’s a good thing she left.** I shrug. _She was a bitch, anyway_. I recall when she snapped at me just for wanting to get his attention. _Excuse me, princess_ , but bros > hoes any day of the week. Fuck her. But this was the third relationship in _six months_. Isn’t that a good time to take a fucking _rest_? How do relationships even _work_?

I don’t know how this shit works…. But you need a break. Six months, three relationships. Take. A. Rest. Yuri face-palmed. _I sound like a dick, don’t I?_

**You’re right, Yura. I need to focus on other things. It just feels like I keep settling, I hate refusing when people ask me out.** I roll my eyes. Right. Beka may seem intimidating from a glance (even though he’s short as _fuck_ ), but he’s just too goddamn nice. I gotta teach him to be a bit of an asshole. Maybe then he’ll stop getting into relationships he doesn’t wanna get into. From what I’ve seen, he _can_ be mean. You just have to poke and prod him a bit to get the job done. I lay back on my bed and pet my cat’s fur. Tchaikovsky purrs and bats my phone with a paw.

You need to learn to be rude sometimes. Tchaikovsky says hi.

**I say hello back. Does he like the toy I got him?** I laugh and look at the catnip mouse that Tchaikovsky carried everywhere, especially when I got home from practice. He’s such a weird cat, presenting me his toys when I got home, but rarely ever playing with them. Beka’s toy was his new favorite.

He always presents me with it when I get home, so yeah. He loves it.

**Good. I knew he’d love it. It looked like something he’d like to have.**

I grin at Tchaikovsky and scratch behind his ear. “You like that, cat?” Tchaikovsky mewls and rubs against my hand. “Okay cat, look. I already fed you. Stop being a goddamn pig and deal with it.” Tchaikovsky purrs. “Mhm. You little liar.” I check my phone and relax further into the bed. And don’t avoid the issue, dammit. I’m telling you, being a jerk works wonders.

**Is that why I’m your only friend?** My jaw goes slack. _The fucking savage…_

Why the hell don’t you act like that when someone asks you out? Tear ‘em a new one, dammit.

**….I guess that could work?**

I don’t know. Just try it. Anyway, I have practice soon.

**Free program, or…?**

Short program. It has the harder jumps.

**Oh. Have fun, then.**

Ugh. Later.

I put the phone down and look at Tchaikovsky. “Any excuse I can make up to not go to practice? I’m already sick of Yakov’s voice, and I haven’t been to the _rink_ yet.” Tchaikovsky purrs and starts licking his paw. “...No? Fine.” I sit up and grab my clothes for practice. “Later, cat. Don’t make a mess in the litterbox, ya hear? I _just_ vacuumed.” The cat looks up, meows, and goes to sleep. “...Well. I’m out.” I grab my skates, lock the door, and get the hell out of there.

I scroll through Instagram while I take my break. Oh, look. Beka posted another picture. I take a quick look. It’s a selfie his sister Zabina took of the two of them, looks like her braces finally came off. Beka shows off that shy half-smirk of his, while Bina gives the widest, toothiest grin I have ever seen. Looks like Zabina also had skating practice, because her short, usually wavy black hair is straightened and tied into a stubby ponytail. The caption reads, “Braces off, skates on @binaa_altin”. I smile a little and roll my eyes, double-tapping on the photo. Curious, I look up Beka’s ex. I followed her for about two seconds until I grew sick of her posting mushy-ass selfies of her and Otabek. Considering Beka never posts, I’m still shocked he allowed her to post pictures of them so often. Of course, being the nosy asshole I am, I took the occasional peek to see what she was up to. There had to be about 200 pictures of those two.

To my lack of surprise (and to my relief), she deleted all of them. I laugh when I see there’s a new man in her life. And he was an American skater. I think he’s new, because I have only seen him in competition this year. And I kicked his _ass_. Beka’s ex downgraded, let me tell you that. I get out of there and continue scrolling. Of course Viktor and the Pig posted yet another selfie. My thumb betrays me and double-taps it. I shrug and keep scrolling, too lazy to unlike it. I check through the Yuri’s Angels page just for kicks. I instantly regret it, because they’re relentless today. Seriously? One of them grabbed a _pencil_ that I supposedly threw out? Fuck.

I get the hell out of that mess and shudder. Ugh. They really need to leave me alone. I look up to watch Mila practicing one of her jumps. She falls on the ice, and I let out the most obnoxious laugh I can muster. She flips me off. I put my phone down and flip her off on both hands.

“Right back at ya, Баба!” She glares at me, and I laugh at her some more. The hag deserves it. Then I sigh and poke through my own pictures. I grin at the picture of Tchaikovsky that I posted last week. That cat is just the funniest little fluffball sometimes… He’s sitting on Yakov’s hat, one paw in the air. I like to imagine he’s flipping the camera off, the little rascal. Cats are _so_ much better than people. Yakov starts yelling my name. I roll my eyes- Of _course_ break is over. I just want to go home and get some sleep. Or text Beka. I put my phone away and continue to practice my routine for next season. As I practice, I notice Georgi whining again about his _perfect, precious Anya_ , and how it was _such a disaster for her to leave him like this_. Give it a rest, buddy. It’s been months.

Getting home is more of a relief than I thought it would be. Hearing Mila talk about how Beka was single again and she hoped he would stay that way for a while makes me sick to my stomach. Stick to that Crispino girl, you fucking hag. You two would make more of a match. But she is right about one thing. After that breakup, Otabek really needs to take a break from dating. This is the third relationship in six months. Next one, and I’m teaching him how to break someone’s heart.  
I throw my bag to the side and flop onto the couch, letting out a very loud and obnoxious groan. _I am so sick of Yakov’s yelling, it’s not even funny. I swear, his voice alone is emotionally draining._ I melt into the couch and close my eyes. About five minutes later, I feel a warm ball of fluff curl up on my chest. Tchaikovsky starts purring and rubbing his face against my cheek. How does he know I need that right now? I’ll never know.

After a _very_ relaxing nap, I open up my text messages, and see something from Beka. Having turned off the message preview feature on my phone because _I am so sick of Mila and Viktor peeking at my texts_ , I unlock my phone and take a look at what it says. 

**Hey, Yura. So you know that skater from France?** I sigh.

Yes, sadly. Heard he kicked JJ’s ass in a recent competition. What about him?

**Well…. He asked me on a date. I said yes.** I groan and toss my phone on the floor. Tchaikovsky hops off my chest and paws my phone. 

_Oh, come the FUCK on._


	2. Not the Baby Pictures!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, Beka has a date! How does it go? Will he actually enjoy himself, or will it be another disaster?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: Ahhhhhhh thanks so much for the comments and the kudos! <3 You have made this little trash can very happy. I feel for my precious little son too, trust me. I promise, these nerds will get together! Patience, my loves. _  
> Warning you right now, I will get some serious writer’s block and disappear for a little while- In fact, I pretty much did that while writing this chapter.... Sorry! I'll try to not do that as much, I'll update more frequently!  
> Anyways, enjoy! 
> 
> _Check out my Tumblr: armin-trashlert_

~O~

I smile as I check my text messages and see another text from him. He’s on his way, thank goodness. Well, I might as well get ready, it’s not like I can go on a date in pajamas…. As amusing as that may be. I hear Zabina calling for my dad. Seems like he’s asleep now, and she needs to go to the rink to practice. I contemplate driving her real quick, but she still needs to get new clothes that are appropriate for riding around on a motorbike. Plus, I have a date, and he’ll be picking me up very soon. I still wonder why he’s in Kazakhstan in the first place…. But I suppose it’s better that way.

Some of Yuri’s previous text messages are in the back of my mind, however. One particular message starts screaming at me- “I don’t know how this shit works…. But you need a break. Six months, three relationships. Take. A. Rest.”. He was right, I know that. But there’s no harm in going on a date… Is there? 

To be honest, Yuri is probably shaking his head at me. He’s told me before to take a break. Do I listen? ...Hahahaha…. I know I can help it, I could say no… But seeing someone’s face shatter (yes, it _has_ happened) when you turn them down tends to put you off. It’s something that you hate to see, even if it means you’ve dodged a bullet. Is it worth that? ...To me it isn’t. 

I walk upstairs to my parents’ room and open the door. “Dad, Bina’s screaming at the top of her lungs, can you take her to the rink?” 

“Mmmmmm…..” I roll my eyes and walk over to the bed, shaking him a little.

“Dad, you need to get up. Mom’s still shopping, she can’t drive Zabina.”

“Mmmmmmmmmn…” Okay, that’s it. Time to wake him up. Evidently, he is not a very light sleeper. I run down to the kitchen and bolt back up with a wooden spoon and a frying pan. I prepare myself for what is about to occur. Dad is going to _kill_ me for this, but Mom’s going to have my back this time. With a mischievous grin, I slip into the parents’ room again. Man, I haven’t done this since I was a little kid. Oh well. I start striking the pan with the spoon and shout random things in Kazakh and Russian in my loudest voice. 

As expected, Dad bolts upright and screams. He clutches his hand to his chest and takes a moment to get his bearings. I put the pan and spoon behind my back, but he still looks up at me and glares.

**“Ota- _BEK_ \---”**

“Dad, you need to take Bina to the rink. You know I can’t take her until she gets the proper clothing.” Dad pauses, his breathing finally slowing. He nods.

“Right, right. Thank you.” Dad stretches and yawns. “Make sure your sister is ready, and have fun on your date.”

“Thanks.” I give him a brief smile and turn to make sure Zabina is ready to leave the house, Goodness knows what will happen if I’m in the middle of my date and I get a text telling me to bring Zabina’s water… Or some other arbitrary object that she somehow magically forgot. That is _not_ going to happen today. Not when I have a date.

When I find her, Zabina has her bag packed. I notice a list she wrote next to her, and she’s checking it one last time. Wow. She learned faster than I did at that age… That’s actually smart. I lean against the doorframe and take my phone out real quick. This time, I have a text from my mother. She tells me to have fun on my date, and that she will have a basket of laundry by my door. I shrug and text her, “You didn’t have to do my laundry… Thank you.” I put my phone away and lurk upstairs to my room. Now it’s _definitely_ time to get ready…. 

I pull open my dresser drawers and flip through them, and still there’s nothing that stands out. You know the stereotype that guys usually grab something and go? There is very little truth in that… At least, in my case. Hm… I contemplate going in all black… Except my best black T-shirt needs to be washed. _There goes that plan…_ So instead I settle for a black sweater pulled over a white button-down shirt, pairing it with dark jeans. I check the mirror and ponder on the look for a moment. _Yep. This will do._ Content, I pull some nice shoes on and start heading downstairs. 

When I’m down, I see him talking with my father at the front door. _Shit. I must’ve taken too long getting my act together. Sigh…_ I allow one corner of my mouth to pull upwards into a half-smile. 

“Marceau, you’re here.” Marceau looks up at me and waves. 

“Good to see you, Otabek. I was just meeting your father. He told me a few things about where your favorite places are. I think he was just about to start showing me baby pictures...” I sigh.

“Dad…” Dad holds up the photo album.

“I have so many of them. Beka’s my first child, I was always taking pictures when he was little!” I feel my face begin to heat up. Damn it, Dad… Not cool. I cover my face when he opens up the album, pointing out his favorite pictures. Some of said pictures are my most embarrassing… This is going to be a fucking trainwreck. But I don’t have the heart to ruin my dad’s moment, he’s just being a proud papa. There’s no harm in that… Right? “This was him right after my wife fed him for the first time… Look how sleepy he is! He was out after five minutes.” Marceau made a little “aww” noise. “And this is his first bath… He started crying the second we started washing him! Didn’t stop until we finally dried him off and dressed him… He was such an odd baby.” The blush grows ever the fiercer as Dad tells that story. “And this one was when he smiled the first time… His mother realized that he had gas.” Fuck. Not that one. Dad no. No. No. Please no. I want to go hide in my room now. Marceau chuckles.

“It’s a cute smile…”

“Isn’t it? My wife thought he was smiling at her, but she heard a little noise and found out otherwise~” Dad. Dad. Stop it. Please. I’m actually going to call it a night and lock myself in my room for…. Hm…. How long can I disappear before the press starts losing their minds? ...Longer than Viktor Nikiforov, that’s for damn sure. But anyway, I’m sure my face is the color of an apple by the time Dad’s done. And when it’s over, they turn to look at me. Dad’s expression said it all- _I did my job._ “Well, have fun~ Enjoy yourselves, and be safe!” I mutter something, but Marceau takes me by the arm.

“Thank you, Mr. Altin. Enjoy your night.” He waves at my father, then turns his head to face me. “Shall we?” 

Thoughts are running through my head as we leave my house. The first one is a text post- _Okay but how dARE you be so goddamn polite what the fuck people call me a gentleman but they haven’t seen nothing **oh my gooooood…**_ I keep quiet until Marceau stops me and asks what’s wrong. Oh. I really was lost in my thoughts- my mind wandered while he was talking to me. Shit.

“Oh! Um… I’m fine. Sorry, I was just thinking.” 

“Of?” 

“Uh….” Honestly? I don’t know. I just have a bunch of jumbled thoughts- which was a phase I _thought_ I was over with…. Nope. Every. Damn. Time. This happens _every first date I go on. Wow, you know you’ve dated too many people when…_

“Otabek?” I snap out of it again.

“Sorry. It’s nothing, I… I really have no clue what I’m thinking about.”

“I see... I have those moments too. So many things are going on, you tend to get lost in your head. Anything noteworthy pass through your mind?” I stare blankly at him until I realize how long it's been. Damn, I must look like a creep. _Otabek Altin. This isn't you. Knock it off, zhyndy!_ I shake my head. 

“Shit, I'm sorry. That was weird. Um…. I guess I was thinking about how many people I've dated… I noticed every first date I go on, I get lost in my own head.” Against my will, I feel a warm flush rise in my face. _God dammit._ “It's ridiculous that I noticed this, I know.” It is Marceau’s turn to shrug.

“Not really. Doesn't matter how many dates you've been on, typically one gets nervous on the first one. We all handle nervousness differently.” He gently pats my shoulder. “It's nothing to be embarrassed about, really.” He looked up to the sky and chuckled, eyes shimmering. “Frankly, if we wanna talk embarrassing, I should pull out photos from junior high school. Now _that_ was humiliating.” A snort escapes, and I curse my reflexes. But instead of looking offended, Marceau simply chortles. “See? There are worse things than sorting your thoughts out.” He holds his hand out towards me. “Shall we?” 

Awestruck, I glance at him, my blush escalating. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck usually I'm the gentleman this isn't fair why me- Shut up Beka._ At a loss for words, I take his hand and let him lead me to my bike. My thoughts are- yet again- all over the place. Brain on autopilot, I pass Marceau a helmet, place mine on my head, and start my motorcycle. Okay, now it’s time to pay attention. Can’t be thinking about other things when there are two-ton death machines on the road. _Focus, Beka._

He places his arms around my waist ( _God dammit_ ) as I navigate the streets of my home city. _When was the last time I took a drive around Almaty? It had to have been before the GPF… Training sucked the life out of me._ I see a few camera flashes. Damn, I thought this would be a subtle date. My Instagram’s on private, how do they know- Dammit. That’s right, my little bike ride with Yuri was publicized practically everywhere, of course they’d know what my motorcycle looks like. Oh well… I suppose things like this happen. Of course, I might just hide in my room while the media has a field day. Marceau is more than welcome to join- I’ll have food. 

Marceau chuckles when he feels me tense up. “It’s all right, let them. They’ll forget about us the next time JJ makes a public appearance anyway. Tomorrow’ll do the trick.” I allow the left corner of my mouth to twitch upward in response. _I have to say, he’s got quite the wit. Perhaps he may stick around for a little while…. As long as the media gets its nose out of my personal life. There’s a reason I hate SNS._ Many of Marceau’s fans are going to request to follow my Instagram overnight… I have never been more grateful that I turned off notifications for that app. “Now, since the press are enjoying themselves right now, and there are already pictures of us anyway, we should take a selfie when we get to dinner.” I relax and nod in response. 

“We should.” I make a right hand turn and finally arrive in front of the restaurant. _Thank goodness…_ It’s a little Chinese place, very hole-in-the-wall, and my absolute favorite place in Almaty. Part of that is because it’s nice and quiet, but the food is fantastic… And the atmosphere seems very cozy. Overall, this is my go-to if I ever get too lazy to make dinner. I just hope that Marceau enjoys it and doesn’t think I’m weird for suggesting this place. So far, from the look I'm seeing on his face, he looks pretty excited. _Is he?_ He seems like an open book to me, but you never know with people these days…

Dinner is actually really nice. Marceau is nothing short of a gentleman, and he doesn't mind my silence and nods when he talks to me. It's not like JJ though- he talks about some pretty deep stuff. I can't help but be intrigued by him. Huh. This is actually kind of nice. From what I’ve experienced, I learned to never expect too much. Marceau is completely defying all of my expectations. And the thing is, I like it. Marceau smiles when he talks, and he is great with eye contact. What a guy- I guess I know how it feels to have a gentleman date me. I have to admit, it is one of the best feelings. He’s making me feel like a human being, like my feelings and thoughts actually matter. 

When the bill comes, I offer to pay for the both of us. Marceau, however, insisted that he pay, that he had converted some money specifically for our date. So I of course, taken aback by this gesture, smile and allow him to pay for everything. He escorts me out and we slip into the alleyway to avoid the paparazzi. The thrill of playing one-sided hide-and-seek is pretty freaking awesome. Finally, I get to start up my bike, enjoying the feel of Marceau’s arms rooted firmly around my waist. The ride back to my home is much more enjoyable and less awkward than before. I laugh at Marceau’s best one-liners as we pass by some of the stranger people in the city. I never knew the lady in front of that one restaurant looked like a… Never mind, that’s not important. 

I make it to my house and park in my usual space. Marceau dismounts first while I shut off and cover my bike. 

“That was lovely, Otabek. The food was delightful!” He winks. “Oh, and hanging out with you was a pleasure.” I snort. 

“I’d love to show you the city. Unfortunately there’s so much to do that it would take a long time to explore.” 

“Well, then I should visit here more often, yes?” He reaches forward and places a kiss on my cheek. Face reddening, I blink several times to make sure that that was real. Marceau laughs at my reaction.

“Otabek, why so surprised? I enjoyed our night. It’s only appropriate that I show you so, hm~?” He gives me a parting gesture as he turns toward his car. “Now I must go to the hotel. It’d be rude of me to ask to stay over after the first date, after all.” He winks. “I’ll see you soon, though. I’d love to do this again sometime.” 

“U-uh- Yeah- Later.” I wave somewhat awkwardly as Marceau starts up his car and drives off. I quickly run to my room to charge my social batteries and mull over everything that went down today. I can’t help but smile to myself when I recall each little thing. I look at my phone to see a text from Yuri asking how the date went. Hm. I’ll tell him later. Right now…

...I need some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: Okay, so this took me for-fucking-ever to finish. But yay! I got Beka’s date outfit from the official art with him and Yuri in the cafe. I thought it would work very well here. I am proud to say though, this chapter is longer than my first- I reached a goal, woooooo! Also all this official art is k i l l i n g me just like this goddamned writer’s block._
> 
> _I hope you enjoyed this chapter, finished a month after the first was written. I suck at dealing with writer’s block, y’all. See you next ~~level~~ chapter!_


	3. Chapter 3- Suspicions, suspicions...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri just got off of the plane, and he smells something a bit fishy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm aware that Yuri’s cat is Puma Tiger Scorpion. But my headcanon says Tchaikovsky, and this will be so. <3 Also thank you for the kudos, as always. Much love to you! I promise good things will come of this fic when I have motivation to write.
> 
> If you want your hearts shattered, totally check out my fic “Shards”.

 

**~Y~**

 

Looking at the latest Instagram post, I sigh. Marceau and Otabek are probably going to be all over each other throughout the upcoming competition. Tchaikovsky casually spreads himself over my lap and purrs, sensing my sour mood and kneading his paws into my leg. I am just so grateful that my cat is actually smart. I would have loved Tchaikovsky nonetheless, but animal therapy is what I really, really need right now. And maybe some pirozhkis. 

 

Why am I so pissed off? Well, several things, really. The main one was that I’m hungry and need some goddamn dinner. Another? Competitions are usually the only time I can see my best friend- Skype only worked so well, and nothing beats just sitting in a quiet room with Otabek and eating snacks. Marceau is just fucking that over, isn’t he? I have to admit, through all the gushy texts and the Instagram posts, they seem to be very happy. But dammit, most of Beka’s exes knew that competition time was bro time.  **Bro time** . Yet I’m most likely gonna be the third wheel throughout the entire goddamned ordeal. I pick up my half-empty water bottle and chug it down, crushing the shit out of it when I finish.  _ Ah, nothing helps my mood better than destroying something. _ Tchaikovsky purrs with lazy bliss. 

 

I take note of a new text that pops in. It's Viktor bitch-ass Nikiforov, Winner Mc-Fucking-Winnerson. Of course he has to send me another selfie of him and the Pig eating katsudon.  _ Yes, I get it, you two shake the walls at night. I don't wanna know.  _ Damn I want that pork cutlet bowl though. I need some comfort food to make up for the fact that I'm not getting my bro time this competition. I’m flying in tomorrow and  _ not _ looking forward to going  _ all the way to fucking Canada _ to compete. JJ’s there. Bad things happen when JJ’s around with his disgusting girlfriend. Oh— sorry—  _ fiancée. _ I don't care anyway. They're still gross. 

 

Just like Beka and Marceau. They're happy, great. But they're still absolutely disgusting. What normal person in their right mind takes a morning selfie with their lover? Gross. I don't want to see Marceau’s five o’clock shadow. But no. I have to see all these things that I don't want to see. Seeing the Pig and Viktor would be preferable.  _ If wishes were horses, JJ would have been run over by a stampede of them _ . 

 

I finish packing my suitcase as Deda calls me down for one last dinner before I travel across the world. I remind myself that I'll be back home again soon enough, hopefully with another gold medal under my belt. It's not enough though, so I pet Tchaikovsky and head downstairs. Dinner is pleasant as usual, and Dedushka doesn't ask about Otabek at all. Thank God, to be fair. I won't want to talk about how he's dating someone to whom he's attached  _ at the motherfucking hip _ . It would make me puke at the thought.

 

After that we decide to put on a soap opera and brutally make fun of it like we always do. Today there's a love triangle between a dude, his gay best friend’s gay cousin, and his pregnant girlfriend. It's very, very odd. There's also a gang leader that shot his own brother in cold blood, and a girl who finally had the guts to call it quits with her friend with benefits. I don't like that guy- he isn't even attractive. Not to mention he's a complete douchebag and looks like he got a frying pan shoved up his ass. Actually, he reminds me of JJ. 

 

And after a good hour, I decide I've had my fill of TV drama and go to bed. Tchaikovsky is already there, taking up half of my pillow. I roll my eyes and place my head on the other half, Tchaikovsky’s fluff tickling my face. I close my eyes, and I don't take long to pass out.  _ Who needs a partner, anyway? Cats are way better. I’ll just live with my cats if I retire. Nine of them. It’ll be the best.  _

 

Going to the airport brings a sense of dread into my chest cavity. I realize that there’s a strong chance that Otabek is going to introduce me to Marceau, which I’m not looking forward to. What if he winds up being hostile towards me? What if he tries to kill me in my sleep. Or worse, what if he tries to be  _ friends _ with me? Ewww no. Then if they break up I’ll have to pick sides, and if I decide I’m actually chill with Marceau that choice would be tough as hell… None of these are things I’m looking forward to possibly experiencing. I’d like for Marceau to just watch me skate and ignore my presence otherwise. That’s it. Nothing more. But no. From what I’ve been told, he’s  _ friendly _ , so I have to be  _ nice _ , which is something I  _ don’t _ like to do. I’d honestly rather listen to Mickey being obsessive over his sister than be friendly with Marceau Beaumont. Good-fucking- _ bye _ . 

 

But, of course, I’m probably going to be stuck with him. If I wanna hang out with Beka, I have to deal with Marceau. Probably. Unless he actually has a brain and knows that bros should have their bro time.  _ Hell, please let this asshole have a brain _ . Going onto the plane, I walk just a little ahead of Yakov and Lilia, putting my earphones in. They know it’s the usual- plane rides are my decompressing time. I already miss Deda and Tchaikovsky- I need to call them when I get back. Yes I talk to my cat on the phone, okay? It’s not as weird as those people who talk to their hamsters. At least my cat responds to me. 

 

Someone next to me starts making small talk with everyone around him. I turn my music up and pretend to be going to sleep so he’ll leave me alone. The  _ last _ thing I want to do is listen to someone trying to chat with me. I cuddle in my blanket to further add to the act. It seems to do the trick, since he doesn’t bother acknowledging my existence.  _ Thank the heavens, I can sleep for the whole ride… Maybe it’ll help with the jetlag this time. _ With that, and the beat of the drums in my ears, I pass out. 

 

I’m out for a long time, too. By the time I’m up, I can see the buildings of London around the plane as we land.  _ Finally, time to change planes. Then I can die for another couple of hours. Ugh, yay Canada. _ I grab my carry-on, stand up, and make a beeline for the door before anyone could recognize me. The last thing I want right now is for people to see me.

 

The next flight is much more dull, and I feel as if I wasted my nap. My phone dies while I’m in the middle of playing a game halfway through the flight, and I scowl. I can’t fall asleep, so I sit and look out the window for several hours. Wow, clouds. You get sick of them after like five minutes.

 

I rush even faster out of the plane when we land. Thank God, I can stretch my goddamn legs! I’ve never been happier to be in an airport in my life, so much going on, and  _ so many places to charge my phone!!! _ It’s almost a blessing. Then I see Yakov and Lilia, and I follow them. My knees are so, so sore. It’s the worst knowing that I can hardly move on a long-ass plane ride, especially when some shithead decides he wants to put his seat back and give me zero leg room. God, I wish Yakov wasn’t so cheap. Oh well. I’m out now, and I enjoy the feeling of my knees being free from that cramped space. 

 

...Then my feelings of relief go sour.

 

Not too far away I see Beka, wrapped up oh-so snugly in Marceau’s arms. I try to hide my face so Beka doesn't see me, but he knows Yakov. 

 

“Yura!”  _ Fuck _ . I turn on my heel and wave at the couple. 

 

“Hey…” My emotions are much more sour than they were when I was on the plane. I wanted to wait until we were in the hotel, after I got a good night’s sleep, before I got the  _ lovely _ opportunity to see my best friend and his little boyfriend in all of their disgusting glory. Otabek grins when he sees me approach them.

 

“Good to see you, man. Ready for the competition?” I shrug. 

 

“As ready as I’ll ever be. I still have plenty of practice before it’s showtime, so.” Otabek shrugs as well, while Marceau slips his arm around Beka’s shoulders.  _ Get. Me. Out. Of. Here. God, could they be any more disgusting? _ I hold back the urge to make a disgusted face. After all, Beka seems like he’s really happy with Marceau, and Marceau seems like a decent guy… 

 

“Well, good! I wish you luck.”  _ When was Otabek so chatty? _ “Well, would you want to hang out when we get to the hotel? I have a couple of mixes that I just made, I think you’d like them.”  _ Okay, that’s normal. Good. _ Yet Marceau looks at Otabek with some slight disappointment. 

 

“Wait Bek, I thought we were watching a movie tonight in my room?” I raise my eyebrow. But perhaps it is just a miscommunication, after all. Shit happens, right? Perhaps Otabek and Marceau aren’t on the same page. But my eyebrow shoots up halfway up my forehead when Otabek gives his response. 

 

“Huh? Wait, you said you were going to want to sleep. Aren’t you exhausted?”

 

“Oh, I’m fine now, I guess it was just the airplane ride. Well?” I notice that Marceau’s arm seems to be just slightly more tense around Otabek’s shoulders. It’s subtle, as if Marceau doesn’t want me to know, but I know better than that. I can tell that this was just sprung on Beka. Even if there were a miscommunication, Otabek is usually sure of himself, and I can tell he’s a bit shocked that Marceau made this sudden comment. But he seems to nod in resignation. 

 

“Yes, Marceau. That’s all right.” He looks at me, a little bit disappointed. “Sorry man, guess it’s gonna have to be tomorrow night, if you’re not too tired to hang.” I smirk and wave.

 

“Yeah, I’ll save some energy. See you soon, man, I need to go. I’m gonna crash.” Otabek nods and Marceau relaxes. I wave and walk off, considering what had just happened in my mind. That was so weird. Was Marceau trying to keep Beka from hanging out with me? And why? What kind of hot shit does he think he is? Isn’t it bros before ho’s? Isn’t that what people say? Then what the FUCK just went down? I don’t get it, but maybe I’m getting too jumpy. I don’t know if Marceau was truly being possessive or anything like that. Maybe there really was a miscommunication and I’m reading too far into things. Maybe.

  
The one thing I’m sure about is that I do  _ not _ like Marceau. Something about him rubs me the wrong way. I didn’t even talk to him directly and I want to punch him right in the face. How does Otabek tolerate him? I just can’t wrap y head around it!!! I roll my eyes and just keep my focus on the exit. Now I just want to get some god… damned… sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> _A/N: I’m trying to make these chapters a reasonable length. This first chapter by itself is about 5 pages (double spaced, whoops, so it’s probably almost 3 pages), almost 1500 words. So if it’s a little too brief, I apologize, I’ll make future chapters longer. Hope you enjoyed this first chapter, I’m looking forward to writing the next! :)_
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> _Check out my Tumblr: armin-trashlert_
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> _Leave an ask, I'll always be able to answer!_


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